3501 


LIGHT  &  MIST 

KATHERINE  ADAMS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


.  f 


LIGHT  and  MIST 

A  BOOK  OF  LYRICS 


LIGHT  and  MIST 


BY 
KATHARINE  ADAMS 

Author  of  "An  Irish  Day  and  other  Poems' 


THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 
BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT  1918 
By  THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 


r 


TO 

A.  R.  W. 


The  author  wishes  to  thank  the  editors  of 
the  following  periodicals  for  permission  to  in 
clude  in  this  volume  poems  which  originally 
appeared  in  their  pages:  Contemporary  Verse, 
The  Delineator,  the  American  Scandinavian 
Review,  The  Touchstone,  the  Boston  Evening 
Transcript,  The  Columbia  Literary  Monthly, 
the  Buffalo  Express,  and  Our  Dumb  Animals. 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

A  Sea  Path 1 

Light  and  Mist 2 

The  Little  Town      ........  3 

Wistfulness  .      . 4 

Joy  in  the  Wood 5 

A  Fog  Land       .      .      .      ...      .    - .      .  6 

London 7 

My  Dream  Child    .........  8 

Little  Lad     .-  •  .     .     .     .     .      .-    .     .      .  9 

An  Irish  Day     .     .      .     .      .      ...      .  10 

The  Butterfly .  11 

February  in  Ireland      .......  12 

At  Dawn      .     .     .     ...     .     .     .      .  13 

Questioning  .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .  14 

"  La  Veille — Et  Apres  "  .      .....  15 

In  the  Shadows        ........  16 

Longing 17 

Light ;      .  18 

Down  in  the  Glen   .      .      . 19 

Echo ......  20 

The  Trumphet  Vine 22 

The  Blind  Girls       .........  23 

The  Irish  Soldiers    ........  24 

Whispering  Leaves        .      .      .      .      .      .      .  25 

Swedish  Midsummer  Night 26 

On  the  Road  to  St.  Gatiens    .     .     .     .      .  27 

Irish  Spring 28 

My  Little  House     ........  30 

An  Irish  Garden .  31 

Loneliness 32 

The  Hunt     .      .      .      .     .     .  ;  .     .     .'    .  33 

A  Phantom  Sail  34 


PAGE 

A  Wishing  Well 35 

Red  Rose 36 

My  Room 37 

To  Sydney .      .  38 

Howth 39 

Color 40 

"  The  Face  of  Esther  " 41 

Which 42 

Shan  O'Inchichore 43 

A  Star  Lit  Hour 44 

The  Devil's  Glen .     .  45 

The  Friends 46 

Christmas  Eve 47 

"  The  Mist  "  48 


A  SEA  PATH  v 

O  LITTLE  lonely  path  close  where  the 
"sea  lies  sleeping, 
Do  you  still  lead  on  through  the  lovely 

night, 
Above    the   moon-touched    mists    so    slowly 

creeping, 
Do  you  still  glimmer  in  the  opal  light? 

I  wonder,   little  path,   are  you  still   trailing 
Close    to    the    rain-swept,    white-rimmed, 

restless  sea, 
That    through    the    brooding    air    is    softly 

wailing 
Some  of  its  unspoken  mystery. 

O,    path   sea   strewn    by    angry    wind's    last 

gleaming, 
Are   ancient    towers    above   still   watching 

near 

And  faint  and  far  a  sea  gull's  lonely  keening 
O,  little  rugged  path,  forever  dear? 

If    through    the    silent    night    you    still    are 

gleaming, 

Keep  all  your  secrets  from  the  silver  sea, 
As   once   you   did  when  two   of   us   walked 

dreaming 

Of  dear  and  lovely  things  that  could  not 
be. 

1 


LIGHT  AND  MIST 

THE  glamour  of  the  City  is  calling  with 
its  lure, 

It  is  calling  with  its  clamour  and  its  light; 
But  the  mist  that's  lying  softly  o'er  a  lonely 

Irish  moor 
Seems  nearer  than  the  City's  call  tonight. 

The  brilliance  of  the  City  is  shining  like  a 

star, 

It  is  shining  bright  as  incense  at  a  shrine; 
But  the  glimmer  of  the  peat  fire  in  an  island 

land  afar 
Shines  deeper   far  within   this  soul  of  mine. 


THE  LITTLE  TOWN 

BELGIUM — 1914 

A INHERE  is  a  Town  now  gray  and  sad, 

•*•     Where  children  used  to  play, 
And  peasant  girls  so  gayly  clad 
Would  sing  upon  their  way. 

There  is  a  Town,  now  still  and  dead, 
Where   Flemish   children  smiled — 

Since  then  the  sunshine  sweet  has  fled 
With  every  little  child. 


WISTFULNESS 

1  COULD  not  see  the  land 
The  mist  lay  all  too  deep — 
O,  you  who  understand, 
Child,   do  not  weep. 

I  did  not  hear  the  bell 
That  sounded  from  the  shore, 
But  in  my  soul  a  knell 
Sounding  ever  more. 

I  shall  not  come  to  you 

Back  from  the  sad  world's  pain 

Or  see  the  dreaming  blue 

Of  your  eyes  again. 

You  sing  your  evening  song 
There  in  the  candle  light — 
Oh,  but  the  hours  lay  long 
Out  in  the  night ! 


JOY  IN  THE  WOOD 

WE  made  a  driftwood  fire, 
You  and  I. 

Where  forest  birds  were  dreaming, 
And  a  bad  brown  owl  was  scheming, 
As  a  baby  star  was  gleaming, 
Soft  and  shy. 

The  gray  mist  smoke  grew  gold, 

Gold  and  blue. 

And  the  thrilling  shadows  creeping, 
Where  the  jeweled  flames  were  leaping, 
Brought  the  dreams  of  wood  birds  sleeping 

Close  to  you. 

We  heard  a  night  lark  call 

Far  and  clear. 

And  the  answer's  deep  confessing, 
Soothed  by  silence  sweet,  caressing, 
Brought  the  wonder  of  God's  blessing 

Very  near. 


A  FOG  LAND 

THERE'S  a   fair  land,   a   fog  land   far 
away — 
Such    weary    leagues    between    of    tossing 

sea — 

It's  sun-touched  and  dew-kissed  and  gray, 
And  oh,  it  is  so  precious  dear  to  me! 

'Tis  a  strange  land,  a  bog  land  over  there, 
And  it  holds  a  wondrous  wealth  of  mystery. 

'Tis  dream-like  and  fairy-like  and  rare, 
And  it  calls — it  fairly  calls  my  heart  from 
me. 

'Tis  a  green  land,  a  gold  land  in  the  sea, 
And  it  knows  a  world  of  tears  and  joy  and 
light; 

Sure,  it's  where  I'm  longing,  longing  so  to  be. 
Ah,  I  know  that  God  is  blessing  it  tonight! 


LONDON  ' 


TWO  of  us— 
And  the  gray  and  black  shadows 
Of  London, 

Mist  touched,  mysterious, 
Sad  figures  at  the  crossings. 

Misery! 

Insistent  cry  of  voices, 
Boys'  young  voices  calling  news. 
Sheltered  lights, 

The  silent  grief  of  Britain  for  her  dead, 
Touching  the  City. 
Then  suddenly 
Trafalgar   Square, 
Silver  shrouded, 
The  face  of  Nelson, 
And  in  our  eyes  tears 
And  in  our  hearts, 
I  know  not  why — 
Peace. 


MY  DREAM  CHILD  */ 

SOMETIMES  through  the  shadows  gray, 
As  the  fire  burns  low, 
From  the  dusk  my  dream  child  comes 
Timidly  and  slow. 

Often,  in  the  twilight  dim, 
Close  to  me  she  stands, 
Smiles  at  me  and  strokes  my  face 
With  her  dimpled  hands. 

Sweet  and  wistful  is  her  smile, 
Bonny  brown  her  hair, 
And  her  eyes  shine  deeply  blue 
In  the  firelight  there. 

Then  I  hold  her  closely, 
Rock  her  to  and  fro, 
Whisper  words  of  tenderness 
And  she  answers  low. 

Just  as  she  seems  dearest 
And  her  eyelids  close 
And  I  think  her  sleeping, 
My  little  dream  child  goes. 

Creeping   through    the   shadows   dim 
In  the  evening  gray, 
Never  looking  back  at  me, 
So  she  slips  away. 

8 


LITTLE  LAD 


ONE  still  September  day  you  ran  to  me 
High  up   a  hill  where  I  was  waiting 
you. 

How  gold  your  hair  gleamed  in  the  sun 
And  oh,  your  eyes — so  blue,  so  blue! 


Your  head  held  back  to  breathe  the  autumn 

air, 
Your  arm   flung  round   me   and  your  eager 

smile — 

How  precious  is  this  thought  of  you  to  keep, 
Now  that  you  have  left  me  for  awhile. 

They  tell  me  when  you  climbed  that  other 

hill- 
Was  it  but  one  brief  month  ago  ? 
You  held  your  head  thrown  back  to  breathe 

the  air 
And  your  young  soldier  face  was  all  aglow 

As  though  you  saw,   beyond   the  hill's  high 

crest, 

Some  joy  too  deep  to  tell,  a  sign 
As  tho'  there  waited  for  you  there 
A  greater  love  than  mine. 


AN  IRISH  DAY   • 

SHADOWS  and  fairy  mist-like  gray, 
Stillness,  joy  half  touched  with  pain, 
Ah,  it  was  an  Irish,  Irish  day 
That  cannot  come  again. 

Violets  and  a  gentle  shower  of  rain, 
Primroses  in  darkest  corners  hidden, 

All  along  an  Irish  country  lane — 

Tears  come  to  my  longing  eyes,  unbidden. 

Twilight  and  the  shadows  deeper  creeping 
Through    the    gray    a    glimpse    of    golden 
furze, 

All  the  flowers  and  treetops  sleeping, 
Just  a  faint  breeze  softly  stirs. 

Turf  fires,  and  the  far-off  call 

Of  sheep,  and  in  my  memory 
I  still  can  feel  the  magic  of  it  all 

In  dream-like  ecstasy. 


10 


THE  BUTTERFLY 

FRAIL  wings,  gold  wings, 
I  found  you  where  the  sea 
Had  tossed  you  in  its  heedlessness, 
And  thrown  you  close  to  me. 

Rose  wings,  black  wings 
Swept  with  angel  blue, 
Seeing  your  dear  helpfulness, 
My  heart  went  out  to  you. 

Frayed  wings,  sad  wings, 
Love  has  set  you  free 
As  you  flutter  from  my  hands 
Through  God's  Eternity. 

For  E.  A.  J. 

Point  AbinOj  Canada. 
Sept.  12th,  1917. 


11 


FEBRUARY  IN  IRELAND 

THROWN  bogs  and  silver  pools  that  dream, 
•*-*    Lying  softly  deep  and  dim 
With  shadows,  pools  that  gleam, 
And  a  young  moon  pale  and  slim. 

Birds  that  sing  so  soon,  you  say? 
Though  faded  is  the  golden  gorse 
And  heather  moors  are  sad  and  gray 
After  their  fiery  days — remorse. 

Black  trees  by  winds  swept  stark  and  clean, 
Golden  bracken,  tangled,  wet, 
And  a  flash  of  vivid  green — 
The  Irish  green  who  can  forget. 

In  the  woods  a  carpet  faint  and  blue, 
Violets  that  feebly  fling 
Their  scent  through  all  the  evening  dew, 
Telling  of  the  wonder — Spring! 


12 


AT  DAWN 

LILT  of  the  thrush  at  dawn, 
Still  is  the  air  and  cool; 
A  young  and  timid  fawn 

Stood  by  a  flower-rimmed  pool. 

Startled,  with  throat  held  high, 

Through  the  peaceful  wood  a  sound 

Sharp,  and  a  shot  flies  by,. 
A  crash,  a  cry  and  a  bound! 

Lilt  of  the  thrush  at  dawn, 

Innocence  lying  dead, 
Shot  through  the  heart,  a  fawn — 

Sky  in  the  East  blood  red! 

The  air  is  cool  and  still, 

Softly  the  love-birds  sing; 
Dear  God,  how  could  men  kill 

So  gentle  and  young  a  thing! 


13 


QUESTIONING 


I~"\  O  you  remember 
*~J    How  fantastic  were  the  shadows 
In  the  silver  silence 

Of  the  night, 
And  how  the  seaweed  seemed  alive 

Upon  the  beach? 
Do  you  still  see 
The  first  faint  gleam 

Of  dawn, 

And  hear  the  crooning  cry 
Of  the  sea-mew? 
Do  you  remember 
How  you  turned  to  me, 
With  your  smile, 
Whimsically  wondering 
If  somewhere, 
Sometime, 
In  some  dream-haunted  space 

Beyond  this  life, 
We  two  again  should  walk 
In  the  silence, 
Through  the  shadows 
Towards  the  dawn? 


14 


"LA  VEILLE— ET  APRES" 


w 


•  ILD  poppies, 
Pink  in  the  sunset, 
Golden  wheat  and  the  flicker  of  leaves; 

Wild  lilies 

That  dream  in  the  moonlight, 
Pale  in  their  beauty  and  peace  that  deceives. 

Wild  poppies, 
Crushed  into  fragments, 
Wheat  that  is  trodden,  faces  that  stare; 

Wild  lilies- 
Flower  of  the  Christ  Child — 
Trampled  and  crimson, 

Yet  breathing  a  prayer. 


15 


IN   THE   SHADOWS 

T  N  the  shadows  she  was  dancing, 
-*•      All  in  gray, 

Like  a  fay, 
Heart  of  me!  she  was  entrancing. 

In  the  shadows  she  was  swaying, 

Slow  and  light, 

As  a  sprite, 
Light  and  shade  around  her  playing. 

In  the  shadows  she  was  singing, 

Soft  and  low, 

To  and  fro, 
As  she  danced  I  heard  her  singing. 

In  the  shadows  I  was  dreaming, 

Of  this  pearl, 

This  gray-clad  girl, 
Rainbow  hopes  around  me  gleaming. 


16 


LONGING  %/ 

HE  went  away  from  me 
And  as  he  closed  the  gate, 
He  smiled. 
And  then  I  knew,  I  know  not  why, 

He  would  not  come  again — 
But  the  smile  stays  and  flutters  at  my  heart. 

Autumn  days  are  here  again 
Smoke-filled  air,  listless  flying  leaves, 
Garden  paths  grown  gray, 
News  of  recent  victories. 

Yet  he  is  gone — 
But  in  the  late  twilight 
I  sometimes  think  I  see  him  smiling 
At  the  gate. 


17 


LIGHT 

A  IAHE  child  was  blind,  but  dearly  sweet, 
-••      She  could  not  speak,  yet  she  was  fair, 
I  used  to  guide  her  faltering  feet 
Through  easy  paths,  but  night  was  there. 

She  could  not  see  the  golden  sun, 
Or  tell  me  of  her  thoughts,  or  sing, 

Or  know  how  wondrous  tasks  are  done, 
Or  hear  the  night  bird's  echo  ring. 

But  one  most  wondrous  star-bright  night 
The  soul  in  her  dull  eyes  awoke; 

Christ  gave  to  her  the  gift  of  Sight, 
God's  angel  touched  her,  and  she  spoke. 


18 


DOWN  IN  THE  GLEN"' 

DOWN  in  the  glen 
Through  the  silence  of  the  leaves, 

Listen ! 

You  will  hear, 
Softly  clear, 

Music, 
And  see  glisten 

Silver  wings. 

Something  sings 
Down  in  the  glen. 

Down  in  the  glen 

In  the  wonder  of  the  night, 

Hearken ! 

By  the  cool  silent  pool, 
Shadows,  as  they  darken, 

See  the  gleam 

Of  a  dream 
Down  in  the  glen. 

Down  in  the  glen 

Where  the  moonlight  weaves  a  path, 

Follow — 
You  will  see, 
In  ecstasy, 

19 


Fairies  dancing  in  the  hollow 

Of  a  tree, 

Merrily, 
Down  in  the  glen. 

For  Little  Mary. 


20 


ECHO    ^ 

NE  time  I  stood  high  in  a  dim  green 

twilight  and  I  heard, 
Deep  in  the  valley,  a  sad  call  of    children's 

last  good-night, 

Then  the  sleepy  twitter  of  a  dreaming  bird 
And  everywhere  a  waning  wistfulness  of  light. 
Gray  were  the  clouds  with  no  faint  touch  of 

crimson  fire, 
The    frail,    late   moon   of    coming    made    no 

silver  sign, 

Opal  stars,  undaunted  of  their  sweet  desire, 
Faintly  in  palest  twilight  dared  to  shine. 
And,   as   I   watched,    the   west   at   last   was 

touched  with  flame 
And  stars  grew  gold  as  though  from  joy  of 

answered  prayer; 
I   know  not  why  but  suddenly  I  called  my 

name 

As  I  stood  on  the  lonely  hilltop  there. 
And  from  the  far,  dim  vales  of  mystery 
A  once  loved  voice  called  back  my  name  to 

me. 


21 


THE   TRUMPET   VINE 

FORGET-ME-NOTS   are  praying  sweet 
and  bluey  gray, 
Brown  and  golden  wallflowers  whisper  fairy 

lore; 
But  fiercely  holding  fast  the  kiss  of  burning 

sun 

A  scarlet  flame  is  trailing  above  the  cottage 
door. 

Proud  and  strong  and  sturdy,  knowing  not 
of  fear, 

Beauty  breathing  fragrance  as  gleams  the 
crimson  wine, 

Friend  of  vagrant  bees  and  the  love  of  hum 
ming  birds, 

Sways  the  fearful  beauty  of  the  blazing 
Trumpet  Vine. 


22 


THE    BLIND   GIRLS 

IN  a  long  room  they  are  weaving — 
Rose  and  blue  and  gold, 
Green  and  gray  and  mauve 
Are  the  colors  that  they  weave — 

And  the  sunshine  gilds  the  room, 

But  they  do  not  see  the  sunshine. 

In  a  long  room  they  are  weaving 
And  their  wistful  faces 
Bend  above  their  shuttles. 

Visitors  pass  by  them  speaking  softly; 

Looking  down  with  eyes  of  pity. 

Something  brighter  than  the  colors 
And  the  sunshine, 

Something  deeper  than  the  pity 
Of  the  strangers, 

Seems  to  hold  the  room  in  Silence 

And  enfold  it  with  protection. 


23 


THE  IRISH  SOLDIERS 

T7ROM  the  rough  and  rocky  cliffs  of  Don 
egal 
To  the  green  and  shady  valleys  down  in 

Clare, 

They  are  going,  going  forward,  each  and  all, 
The  share  in  their  dear  Empire's  pain  to 
bear. 

With  smiles  of  hope  and  cheery  Irish  song, 
Ever  looking  straight  before  them  to  the 

fight, 
They  are  swinging,  swinging  off  to  crush  the 

wrong 

And  to  help  and  have  and  hold  and  keep 
the  Right. 

From  the  wonder  of  their  dreamy  Island  land 
To  the  awful  heat  and  horror  of  the  strife, 

With  a  courage  very  fine  and  very  grand, 
They  are  giving,  giving,  every  man  his  life. 

And  the  glory  of  the  splendid  sacrifice 

Shall  shine  through  all  the  ages  yet  to  be, 

And  the  sun  shall  tell  through  weeping  Irish 

skies 
It  is  living,  living  through  Eternity. 


24 


WHISPERING   LEAVES 

T    EAVES  were  whispering  in  the  night, 
•*— '    Long  ago  on  a  Terrace  high, 
Fireflies  flickered  their  greenish  light, 
In  that  hour  of  my  life  gone  by. 

Joy  will  come  with  the  changing  years, 
Life  her  wonderful  pattern  weaves, 

But  I  shall  remember  through  mists  of  tears 
The  whispering  of  the  leaves. 


25 


SWEDISH  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT 

WONDER— 
Silence  of  midnight! 
Where  are  the  stars? 
Hidden  in  flame, 
In  gold  and  amethyst, 
In  crimson  and  bronze. 
The  sky  is  fearful 

In  its  beauty. 
Through  the  narrow  waterways 

Boats  glide, 

White  boats, 
Out  to  the  opal  sea 
With  its  shadows  of  blue — 
A  sea  touched  with  fire. 
Purple  black  are  the  pines 

On  the  shore 

And  the  rocks 

Gleam  as  silver. 

There  is  music — 

Voices  singing  "Du  gamla  du  friska!" 
And  the  green  mystery — 

The  message 
Of  the  Northern  Lights. 


26 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  ST.  GATIEN'S 


'T^HE  rush  of  the  wind  and  the  curlew's 
-*•       cry, 

The  clear,  silver  twist  of  the  stream, 
A  comforting  glimpse  of  the  star-lit  sky 

And  the  hush  of  the  flowers  that  dream. 

The  old,  dear  house  and  the  gate  in  sight, 
A  fragrance  of  roses,  the  sweet  far  call 

Of  sleepy  wood  things  all  saying  good-night, 
And  love  broods  over  it  all. 

For  M.  L. 


27 


IRISH    SPRING  V'' 

TT  is  fairy  time  in  Ireland 

In  the  Spring, 

With  the  golden  hush  of  starshine  on  the  hill. 
Gleaming  veils  of  silver  dew, 
Mystic  shadows  soft  and  blue, 
Oh,  it's  wondertime  in  Ireland 

In  the  Spring. 

My  heart  flies  far  to  Ireland 

In  the  Spring, 

With  the  silence  of  its  secrets  still  untold. 
Flowering  may,  rose,  pink  and  white, 
Fairies  dancing  in  the  night, 
It  is  magic  time  in  Ireland 

In  the  Spring. 

It  is  dreaming  time  in  Ireland 

In  the  Spring, 
With  the  fields  of  cowslips  gleaming  in  the 

sun, 

And  the  tender  fragile  sheen 
Of  the  softest,  palest  green 
Of  the  leaves  that  bud  in  Ireland 

In  the  Spring. 

O,  God  keep  Ireland  safe  through 
All  the  Spring! 

28 


It  is  her  holy  time  in  all  the  year. 
Violets  blue  and  primrose  frail, 
Columbine  and  lilies  pale, 
Breathe  peace  and  love  to  Ireland 
In  the  Spring. 


29 


MY  LITTLE  HOUSE 

NO  one  knows  my  little  house, 
No  one  but  me; 
I  have  fashioned  it  myself 
And  moulded  the  key. 

Windows  wide  to  hold  the  light, 

Little  doorstep  too— 
Roof  of  tangled  roses  wild, 

Silver  pink  with  dew. 

Just  a  little,  little  house — 

Will  it  come  true? 
Let  me  take  you  to  my  heart 

And  show  it  to  you. 


30 


AN  IRISH  GARDEN  *' 

I    SAW  a  garden  on  a  summer  night; 
Crimson  roses  sweet,  and  touched  with 

dew, 

Winding  paths  and  wondrous  mystic  light, 
Silence,  and  a  rose-touched  wind  that  blew. 

I  saw  a  garden  on  a  summer  night; 

The  flowers  and  trees  in  moonlight  silver 

gleamed, 
Larkspur  blue  and  lilies  pure  and  white, 

Through  the  gentle  darkness  idly  dreamed. 

I  loved  a  garden  on  a  summer  night 

And  breathed  the  scent  of  roses  growing 

there. 

Through  the  dusk  and  shadows  I  found  light, 
Love    and    peace    were   round    me,    every 
where. 

For  F.  P. 

Priorsland,  Carricmines,  Ireland 


31 


LONELINESS 


pATHS  that  wind  through  the  dreaming 
•••      gorse, 

Winding  on  to  the  far  away 
Where  the  deep  rose  of  the  heather  hills 
Fades  to  the  heart  of  the  evening  gray; 
There  where  the  dreams  of  the  long  ago 
Whisper  as  they  go  wandering  by 
And  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  purple  moor 
Fades  to  the  edge  of  a  starless  sky, 
Loneliness — 


32 


THE  HUNT 

HE  wind  was  still  and  the  sky  was  gray, 
The   air  was  filled   with   the  morning 

sweet 

And  the  hunting  coats  were  scarlet  and  gay. 
Laughter  was  there  and  friends  to  greet, 
The  pack  aquiver,  the  horn's  last  call, 
A  wood  creature's  heart  beating  high   with 

dread, 

What  is  the  end  and  aim  of  it  all? 
Only  a  small  gray  rabbit  dead 
Worn  and  torn  she  was  lying  there — 
And  they  said  that  day  that  the  hunt  was 

"fair." 


33 


A    PHANTOM    SAIL 

TF  from  the  dim  and  silent  sea, 

•*•   The  miles  of  misty  sea  seen  through  the 

gloom, 

You  could  come  sailing  back  to  me 
P'rom  your  wonderful  grave  in  the  sea's  green 
tomb, 

If  just  at  twilight  as  the  world  seems  sleeping, 
Far  off  I  saw  you  in  some  shadowy  boat 
And  nearer,  even  nearer,  you  came  creeping, 
Floating  as  the  water-lilies  float; 

Until  you  reached  the  strand,  and  close  beside 

me 

Anchored  your  frail  craft  and  whispered  low 
That  you  had  come  from  depths  of  mystery, 
Because  you  knew  on  earth  I  loved  you  so; 

I  should  bid  you  to  sail  back  from  me, 
No  phantom  sign  of  you  could  give  me  rest, 
But  rather  would  I  hold  the  memory 
Of  your  deep  love  that  made  my  life  so  blest. 


34 


D 


A  WISHING  WELL  S 

EEP  in  the  heart  of  a  fairy  dell, 
Far  from  the  world  and  men, 
know  a  moss-grown  wishing  well, 
Safe  in  a  primrose  glen. 


Many  a  secret  whispered  there, 
Many  a  wish  breathed  low, 

Many  a  hope  and  a  promise  fair, 
With  only  the  well  to  know. 


35 


RED  ROSE 

VT'OU  said  that  I  was  a  rose 
•*•    Just  a  red,  red  rose  to  you, 
One  time  as  we  strayed  through  a  sunny  lane 
In  the  way  that  we  used  to  do. 

And  so  when  the  rain  beats  ceaselessly 
And  the  chill  of  the  keen  wind  blows, 
I  think  of  the  magical  sun-touched  day, 
When  you  told  me  I  was  a  rose. 


36 


MY  ROOM/ 

T  HAVE  a  room  in  my  dreams, 

•*•    A  long,  turf-scented  room, 

Where  in  a  fire-place  flames  die  low,  then  leap 

And  gild  the  golden  fur  of  a  cat  asleep. 

Chintz  of  mauve  and  rose  and  gray, 

A  couch  drawn  near  the  fire, 

And  curtains  of  corn-flower  blue  that  sway 

And  bring  a  message  from  the  Irish  moor 

Outside,   and   show   a   glimpse  of   darkening 

purple, 

And  the  strange  entrancing  lure  of  the  heather. 
There  are  roses  in  my  room, 
Pale  pink  and  gold, 
And  through  the  wistful  tender  gloom, 
Faces  of  my  friends  gleam — 
There  are  always  friends  in  this  room  of  my 

dreams. 

For  Billy 


37 


TO  SYDNEY 

A  WELL- WORN  coat,  a  pipe,  his  gun, 
A  letter  written  just  before — 
Resting  now,  the  warfare  done, 
His  cheery  message  comes  no  more. 

He  was  a  soldier,  first  and  last; 

You're  thinking  of  his  sunny  smile, 
Now  that  his  gallant  soul  has  passed, 

And  left  you  wearying,  the  while. 

He  always,  always  played  the  game; 

He  was  so  simple  and  so  fine 
He  never  even  thought  of  fame, 

The  deed  he  did  was  half  divine. 

He  only  knew  the  soldier's  part, 
He  braved  the  awful  shell  to  save 

A  black  man,  and  his  faithful  heart 
Is  stilled  deep  in  a  glorious  grave. 

(In   memory   of   Captain  A.  St.  J.    Gore, 
Gurhka  Rifles,  killed  in  action,  June, 


38 


HOWTH 

TTEATHER  hills  of  pink  and  purple  red, 
•••  •••   Gleam  of  the  golden  gorse  and  hum  of 

bees, 

Blue,  pale  sky  from  which  the  stars  have  fled — 
Dawn's  first  whisper  stirs  and  sways  the 
trees. 

Hungry  goats  that  climb  the  mountain  steep, 
Gentle  bleat  of  lambkins  soft  and  low, 

The  little  village  waking  from  its  sleep, 
Deep  within  the  valley  far  below. 

Ivy-covered,  beautiful  and  cold, 

Wild  woods  round  it,  turrets  tall  and  gray, 
Stands  an  eerie  castle,  grim  and  old, 

Watching  for  the  coming  of  the  day. 

Ruffled    sea,    green-gray    and    touched    with 

shade, 

Fishing  boats  red-sailed,  the  sea-gull's  cry, 
And  lying  near,  some  jagged  rocks  have  made 
A  strange,  fantastic    Isle    called    Ireland's 
Eye. 

For   Vaudine 


39 


COLOR 

GOLD  of  the  swamp,  gold  of  the  sky, 
Scarlet  of  cardinals  flying, 
Green  of  the  sea,  green  of  the  land, 
Red  of  the  sun's  late  dying. 

Purple  of  finches,  swish  of  their  wings, 
Gray  little  love-birds  peeping, 

Bronze  of  the  oriole's  burnished  breast, 
Black  of  the  shadows  creeping. 


40 


"THE  FACE  OF  ESTHER" 

T?ROM  the  dusk  of  a  long,  dark  corridor 
•*-     To  the  shine  of  the  pale  moonlight, 
A  face  comes,  haunting  me  evermore, 
Gaping  out  into  the  night. 

And  the  old  French  garden  seems  to  be 

Soft  in  the  mystic  beams, 
A  phantom  garden,  under  the  sky 

A  moon-lit  vision  of  dreams. 

Where  the  shadows  are  darkest  of  all, 
In  the  corridor's  sombre  shade, 

There  glistens  a  beam  by  the  moon  let  fall, 
A  path  by  the  moonlight  made. 

And  there  through  the  mist  of  years  I  see 

A  face  that  is  strange  and  fair, 
And  eyes  that  are  gazing  across  at  me 

From  the  moon-touched  window  there. 

O,  wondrous  face  of  the  long  ago, 

O,  charm  of  a  by-gone  day, 
O,  dream  too  dear  to  keep — for  lo, 

It  fades  in  the  dusk  away. 


41 


WHICH? 

HERE  are  emeralds  from  ancient  lands, 
Do  you  care  for  these? 

Or  diamonds  blue, 

Deep  in  fairy  settings? 
I  have  had  wrought  for  you 
Rare  strings  of  curious  beauty 

And  an  opal  girdle, 
You  must  wear  this  peach-blow  gown 
And  a  wisp  of  pearl-strewn  tissue 

Shall  wrap  you  round. 

This  is  not  joy — you  say? 

You  would  rather  don  your  smock  of  brown 

And  your  stockings  gray 

And  wander  o'er  the  hills 
And  by  a  wild  wood  fire  cook 
Your  evening  meal — then  dream 
Of  a  small  clean  house  and  a  brook 
Close  by,  and  children's  laughter 

This  is  joy — you  say? 


42 


SHAN  O'  INCHICHORE 

SURE  a  rare  lad,  a  brave  lad, 
Was  Shan  o'  Inchichore. 
Minny  an  auld  wife  loved  the  lad, 
Minny  a  colleen's  heart  was  sad, 

Whin  he  wint  to  the  awful  war. 

Oh!  he  danced  so  gay,  he  danced  so  light, 

Young  Shan  o'  Inchichore. 
He  danced  on  the  green  of  a  summer  night, 
He  sang  home  songs  in  the  Irish  light, 

Before  he  wint  off  to  the  war. 

Oh !  he  fought  so  brave,  he  fought  so  well, 

Young  Shan  o'  Inchichore. 
The  auld  wives  keened  a  weary  knell, 
The  wind  sighed  sad  our  grief  to  tell, 

Whin  they  killed  our  Shan,  at  the  war. 


43 


A  STAR-LIT  HOUR 

TILL  in  the  depths  of  a  star-lit  hour, 

By  a  lonely  sea  I  stood, 
And  in  my  soul  I  felt  the  power 
Of  infinite  love  and  good. 

Life  seemed  simple,  and  calm,  and  pure, 
Under  the  stars,  in  the  moon's  pale  light. 

And  I  thought,  tho'  the  world  has  much  to 

endure, 
All  that  is  Real  is  Right. 

Above  and  beyond  all  pain  and  sin 

Is  the  light  of  wonderful  love, 
And  into  my  thoughts  this  love  crept  in, 

As  I  gazed  at  the  stars  above. 

And  I  knew  that  all  that  is  dark  and  wrong 

Must  fade  and  pass  away, 
And  my  heart  was  filled  with  a  joyful  song, 

As  I  watched  for  the  coming  day. 

For  E.  S. 


44 


THE  DEVIL'S  GLEN 

,  we  were  glad  as  we  rode  away 
From  the  devil's  glen  with  its  paths  so 

drear, 

Dim  and  grim  and  edged  with  fear, 
And  its  eerie  shadows  dark  and  gray. 

All  the  air  of  the  fields  we  quaffed 
As  we  fled  from  the  glen  with  its  tears  untold 
Into  the  dream  of  a  sunset  gold, 
With  the  wild  flowers  and  wind  and  trees  we 
laughed. 

Away  from  the  glen  with  its  haunting  pain 
Where  secrets  of  weary  ages  sleep 
And  silent  wraiths  of  sorrow  creep, 
We  ride  to  the  joy  of  the  world  again. 


45 


THE  FRIENDS 

A   BOY  once  played  upon  the  shores  of  a 
bay, 

A  boy  with  wistful  eyes,  whose  name  was 
John. 

And  the  lark, 

The  singing  joy  of  the  world, 
Came  and  sang  to  him, 
Filling  the  air  with  delicate  rapture. 
And  always  his  message  was, — 

You  have  a  friend. 
When   the   silver   mountains   were   strangely 

clear, 
And  the  bay  was  swept  with  gold,  or  in  the 

dim  twilight, 

When  the  blossoms  of  the  fig  trees  whispered, 
The  boy  would  stand  with  his  head  bowed 

And  thankfulness 
Would  breathe  from  him — 
The  name  of  his  friend  was  Jesus. 

For  P.  W. 


46 


CHRISTMAS    EVE 
To  My  Father  and  Mother 

WINDING  and  weary  streets 
And  the  cruel  jangle  of  day 
Still  sounding 
Through   the  night. 
Grim   and  harsh  laughter, 
Then  a  silence, 
As  from  the  pasture  lands 
There  comes  a  breath 
Of  dawn. 

Voices  of  the  town — 
The  restless  crowded  town — 
Are  stilled, 
And  a  beggar 

Stops  the  curse  upon  his  lips 
And  says  the  moonlight 
Seems  so  strange, 
And  that  the  stars 
Are  whispering. 
Some  murmur  that  the  morrow 
Will  dawn  clearly, 
For  the  East  is  very  white. 
There  a  star 
That  holds  the  beauty 
Of  all  worlds,  is  quivering, 
47 


And  peace 

Touches  the  weary,  winding  streets, 

And  the  restless  jangle 

Of  the  waiting  city. 


48 


"THE   MINE" 
To  W.  L.  C. 

WHERE  the  brown  earth 
Holds   a  secret 
They  are  delving  deep 
Into  the  heart 
Of  mystery. 
As  the  sweet  wonder 

Of  sun 

After  darkness, 
Gilds  the  rim 

Of  the  world, 
So  the  gold  lives 
Through  the  dusky  caverns 

Of  earth. 
As  through  the  weariness 

Of  grief, 
And  the  misery 

Of  sin, 

Love  eternal  shines  and  purifies; 
So  the  gold 
Is  washed 

To  shining  beauty — 
Cleansed  from  the  earth 

And  darkness 
That  covered  it. 

49 


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